


meet in a dream

by aninternetfriend



Series: timeless [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, this was actually a prompt, yup it really is a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 16:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8216069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aninternetfriend/pseuds/aninternetfriend
Summary: "Emma dreamt with one person her entire life and never knew what it all meant. Killian dreamt with one person her entire life and he had no clue as well. Maybe that'll all be sorted."(written in 2014)





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's happening again. 
> 
> As usual, I have made some changes in grammar and formatting so it's all as correct as possible. 
> 
> Oneshot #24 in my original collection.

* * *

The dreams began when Emma was fourteen. A boy she'd never seen before, dark hair, blue eyes, just _looking_ at her. It wasn't awkward or uncomfortable; quite the contrary, actually. When he looked at her, she felt safe, calm and almost at home. His eyes were warm and inviting, and she sometimes lost herself in them.

They met at so many different places: squares, beaches, meadows, pirate ships - _yes_ -, castles, the streets, forests... All kinds of places, all playing the perfect part as hiding spot from reality.

Every night, she dreamed of _him_. Every night, she felt at home, just to wake up to the sound of her foster mother yelling at her, back to the painful and bad reality.

As time passed, he didn't just look at her. She saw how his eyes told her she could tell him her problems and regrets and anything that was disturbing her. And so she did. She relied on him to keep her sane, if she were completely honest.

She never _daydreamed_ about him, though. She also never fully remembered the dreams the next morning; only the blue eyes under thick dark eyebrows.

Are She liked the boy. She liked the effect he had on her and how hopeful she felt when she looked at him. After her fifteenth birthday and two new foster homes, she found out she not only liked the boy, but felt so attached to him she was sure that, if she ever stopped dreaming about him, she'd lose all hope.

She noticed how, throughout the years, he aged with her, always a year or two older, always there for her when she cried herself to sleep, only to be greeted by his gentle eyes and kind smile.

That was it, until she turned sixteen: when she met Neal Cassidy. She stopped dreaming about the boy who filled her nights with joy.

After she went to jail, regretful and weak, she started seeing blue eyes in her dreams, and a tiny spark of hope lit up in her chest every morning she rose. She left jail at the age of eighteen, and looked for a new start.

The boy - now a man - never left her nights, always interrupted her nightmares and used his soft look and warm touch to soothe her. She never once heard his voice.

She felt as if he were a real person, though. Somedays, he looked more tired or happier or more annoyed. She tried her best to alleviate him from his apparent problems by talking to him, even though he never answered. But the grateful look he gave her in the end was always worth it.

She had started to ascend in her life, and her talks with - _at_  - him started to become about her day, her dreams and accomplishments, the problems now being one subject among millions.

He never laughed. Not really. But the smiles he gave her were truly a gift.

She had fallen in love with a fruit of her imagination.  
 

* * *

  

Killian started to dream about the golden haired girl when he was sixteen, right after his father had left Liam and him.

She looked as lost as him in the first days, but they grew closer each week that passed.

No matter how much he tried to utter words, they never came out, and it was _agonising_. She once mentioned how weird it felt to talk to somebody and know they can hear you, but not answer you. She said she wished he could.

Sometimes, he could see she was falling apart, from the problems she told him and the look in her eyes, and he could do nothing to help. He hated it.

Around the time he was eighteen, when his life was finally getting better, she was gone. Every night, he hopped into bed, hoping he would meet her emerald eyes once sleep had taken him, but she was never there.

She wasn't there when he broke his wrist. She wasn't there when he suffered a car accident. She wasn't there when Liam died. He _needed_ her, and she _wasn't there_.

He feared she had died. If not that, he feared _he_ had lost hope. He realised he missed her too much when he caught himself thinking about her smile and spilled coffee all over his desk.

He loved her. Was she even real, though?

And then she came back.

Around his 20th birthday, he was starting to give up hope completely when he saw her leaning on the railing of their pirate ship. He wanted to shout at her and hug her at the same time, but all he managed to do was to softly touch her shoulder and then her hands.

She had grown. She was nearly a woman now; her face looked more adult. She was still younger than him, but he didn't really give a damn. He _loved_ her and loved the surprised then tender look that took her eyes when she realised it was him.

He went to bed every night thinking of her and woke up thinking of her. He was always eager to hear her talking when he closed his eyes and sad to leave her when he opened them. He loved her voice, her looks, her gestures; her. He loved her whole being as if she were real and present in his life.  
 

* * *

   

The years passed and Killian had never wished she were a real person as much as now. He had taken the habit of writing notes to her in the notebook on his bedside table.

_Morning, Swan. I hope your job wasn't too tiring, today. You catch those skippers_

_Swan, I missed you today. Couldn't sleep because of loud neighbour party and I wished you were here to help me punch him in the face._

_Swan, I spilled cinnamon over the edge of my mug this morning and I apologise for the waste._

_Afternoon, Swan. I hope you're doing alright. Your boy was born today._

_Hello, Swan. I need clothing advice for a conference I'll have later this week. Might be urgent._

_Are you real, Swan?_

He always kept the notebook in his backpack, the one he took everywhere. The notes were a sort of reminder to have hope.  
 

* * *

 

Her day was being _shit_.

After nearly cracking her cranium open in an almost-fall to her death while she chased the skipper, she called her client and told her she couldn't get the guy. She was yelled at and the woman hung up on her face. _Great_.

She had just stopped at Granny's - her favourite diner in New York; quiet, tasty, comfy - to grab some hot cocoa. She looked down at her takeout bag that contained a doughnut and a package of cinnamon powder for _one second,_ and the next one, she had bumped into someone, dropping her cocoa and will to live. At least the doughnut was safe.

Strong hands held her upper arms to stabilise her. " _Bloody hell,_ I'm so sorry, lass, I wasn't looking--" She looked up and he stopped, and she was suddenly staring at the same blue eyes she stared at every night. She saw recognition take his features and his breath hitched - so did hers, but she couldn't bring herself to care too much about that now. " _Swan_..."

How did the man know her name? More importantly, how did he exist?! She _made him up_ when things were rough; how could his very solid form be standing right in front of her?

" _You_...," was the only thing she managed to breathe out as both gazed into each other's eyes. His weren't as bright a blue as they were in her dreams, but she felt that was irrelevant at the moment given he was _actually there._

He looked around and guided her out of the busy New York sidewalk, entering the square nearby and sitting down at the closest bench. She was still looking at him in awe - _God_ , he was pretty - and he did pretty much the same.

When she finally realised this definitely was not one of her dreams, she furrowed her brow. "But I made you up."

"Pardon?" She only realised he had an accent now, and it didn't help the twists and turns her stomach was making.

"You're not real..."

He chuckled. "I'm very much real, love."

She shook her head lightly. "How?"

He blinked. "I don't know," he replied simply, taking in her face again. He looked like he was relishing every second, as if wanting to keep in memory in case that was only another dream. Or was that her?

"Is it even possible?," she whispered. She didn't know why she was whispering.

"My brother once told me nothing's impossible...," he said. She could feel the sorrow in his words. "So this _could_ be a part of that idea."

Something that had been nagging her for the last few minutes finally made its way out of her mouth as she blinked. "Have you always lived here?"

"No, I grew up in England and when I was twelve I went to Boston. Until about two years ago, when I moved here."

"I was in Boston when I was 14..."

"Maybe you got a glance of me? And I got a glance of you? You are quite memorable, love, if I'm absolutely frank," he said, a small smirk settling on his lips. He was flirting and she was scared. She was scared because she enjoyed it.

A rebel grin started stretching her lips as she blushed the slightest bit. "Is it possible to have real strong feelings for something you were sure was not real?"

He shrugged. "It happened to me," he answered as if he hadn't just told her he had strong feelings for her.

She felt a strong pull towards him, but she didn't know if it was that that threw her arms around his neck, face buried in his neck, finally able to _breathe him in_ \- something she had been wanting to do for more than a decade - and just feel.

A heartbeat or two was all it took for him to wrap his own arms around her, squeezing her in the best way, and suddenly she couldn't breathe at all.

She wanted to cry; she felt as if a loved family member had woken up from a coma, or as if she had found the best thing in the world after a lifetime of searching.

 _Maybe I have_ , she thought, as her fingers scraped his hair. She felt his own tangling in her locks and his sigh at the feel of her nails on his scalp. It felt perfect, and she didn't want to let go. _Ever_.

And so she didn't.

**Author's Note:**

> I was really proud when I wrote this simply because all the prompt said was 'meet on a dream'. The rest I just came up with.


End file.
